


In Hope of Vengeance

by Zdenka



Category: Chronicles of Prydain - Lloyd Alexander
Genre: Gen, Villain PoV
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-09-02
Updated: 2014-09-02
Packaged: 2018-02-15 19:56:29
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,769
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2241492
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Zdenka/pseuds/Zdenka
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Achren reluctantly settles into Caer Dallben and awaits the moment for revenge.</p>
            </blockquote>





	In Hope of Vengeance

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Lilliburlero](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Lilliburlero/gifts).



> Many thanks to Sovay and Greenlily for last-minute beta-reading. And thanks to my recipient for a fun and enthusiastic letter.

In Caer Dallben, I bided my time. There was little else to do; the daily tasks of tending the cottage and farm occupied only a small part of my thoughts. It stung to accept protection and shelter from one who had been my enemy, but I did not despair. I knew, with the deep knowledge of an enchantress, that there was still some deed for me to do and that a day would come for me to take revenge on those who had wronged me.

When I first entered the cottage, following Coll, I gazed about me in silence. It hardly seemed like the dwelling of a powerful enchanter. I would have scorned to spend a night here, in former times. “Dallben prefers not to be disturbed,” he said. “But you may go anywhere else you like. We don’t have a spare room, but I can set up a bed for you in the granary. It’s warm and dry enough.”

I continued to look about me. The floor was dusty, and there was a large cobweb in one corner. “Does Dallben keep no servants, then?” I asked in surprise.

Coll followed the direction of my gaze. “He does not,” he admitted cheerfully. “In his wisdom, Dallben pays little heed to such matters as cleaning. As for myself, I spend more time weeding my turnip patch, and with Taran and Eilonwy gone, I fear matters inside the house have suffered.”

My lips curled. “I may be powerless,” I said harshly, “but I will not be a burden. Do you have a broom?”

After searching, Coll came up with a broom that had seen better days, its straws bent and broken at the edges. No matter; so had I. I took the ragged thing and grimly swept every corner of the cottage.

I had nearly finished the sweeping when Dallben emerged from his chamber, his long white beard drifting about him. I ignored his presence with cold pride and continued with my humble task. “Thank you, Achren,” he said gravely. I inclined my head in ironic acknowledgement of his courtesy.

As I went about my work, I could feel the power thrumming through Caer Dallben, a vibration at the edge of hearing. Even the Lord of Annuvin might fear to assault this place. I reached for my own power, although I knew it was useless. Nothing. I could feel the power, but not touch it. 

A Queen does not repine over what might have been. I set aside the useless effort and went to clean the scullery. Cleaning was one thing; but I did not know how to do so simple a task as making bread. Even in exile, there was always a warrior or a servant who wished to gain my favor. It was Coll Son of Collfrewr who showed me what I needed to know and then left me to my work.

He was an oddity in my eyes. I was well skilled at reading a man’s heart and playing on his hopes, offering power or wealth or glory according to what he most desired. Yet Coll seemed to be utterly without ambition. Where Dallben had power I must perforce acknowledge, Coll Son of Collfrewr was nothing. He had been a warrior once, and indeed had struck a great blow against Arawn by stealing back the pig Hen Wen, but he now seemed content to be no more than a simple farmer and blacksmith. I despised him for it. And yet his kindness eased my lot in small ways. When the air grew chill, I found another blanket on my straw pallet in the granary.

As I became more skilled in cooking and the other work inside the house, Coll returned to the farming tasks he favored. Something stirred within me as I saw them eat the food I had made without hesitation. My powers were gone, true, but I still knew enough of herbs to poison the simple stew ten times over. I had no intention of harming them, but they could not know that. Coll smiled cheerfully and served himself another helping.

Though he tried to put a bold face on it, I could tell the Pig-Keeper still feared me. The shaggy creature he had befriended did not even seek to pretend; whenever he saw me, his eyes widened with dread and he quickly scurried away, avoiding my gaze. I let him go with silent scorn.

As the first numbness wore off, I tasted all the bitterness of my defeat. I lay sleepless for long hours, staring into the silent dark. There I swore over and over to have my vengeance on Arawn, to see his power crumble even as had mine. I resolved that I must live until it was done.

Things became more peaceful once the Pig-Keeper and his shaggy companion departed on their quest. The days settled into a pattern. I made myself inconspicuous; those who came to consult Dallben saw only an old servant, or so they thought. I observed them all, whether prince or peasant or one disguised as the other, and heard more than they realized. I stored up each bit of knowledge I gained, treasuring it up within myself. I could not yet guess what would be the weapon I needed to strike back against my enemies. Each day I performed my tasks in silence and retired to my sleeping place in the granary.

And then came the day when the bard staggered into Caer Dallben, carrying Gwydion’s body in his arms. Gwydion lay very still, and Eilonwy feared he was slain; but I knew better. My power was gone, but my knowledge was not lost to me. I could see the blood still pulsing strongly through his veins and knew that he would live.

I did not rejoice at seeing him thus brought low. Even before the bard spoke, I knew great matters were afoot. It was time, my instincts told me with fierce certainty. Time for me to aid those who had aided me – for I despised being in their debt – and destroy those who had betrayed me.

I offered to keep vigil over the wounded Prince of Don. They would not leave me alone with him, although I would not have harmed him – still more, if any foe came upon him while he lay helpless, I would have defended him with my life. I did not tell them so. Aiding Gwydion was the surest way to strike back at Arawn, but that was not my only reason. It was Gwydion, Prince of Don, who had destroyed my plans more than once; it was he who had given me life when I desired to die. The balance would be repaid.

Eilonwy insisted on taking the closest chair to Gwydion’s bed, although she could do nothing for him. The night darkened, and the girl nodded as she sat. Dallben’s eyes were half-closed, and I could not tell whether he was asleep or awake. Perhaps in a half-dreaming state, he contended with hidden powers for Gwydion’s healing.

Wrapped in my mantle, I sat in silence while the hours of the night wore on. Would Gwydion despair when he woke, I wondered? Would he rage? Again I regretted that I had not been able to bring him to serve me. But now I would serve him, as best I might. I waited, and at last the Prince of Don awoke.

I brought him water and held his head while he drank. He thanked me hoarsely.

Dallben’s eyes were open now and he leaned forward with a look of concern. “Fflewdur has told us what happened,” he said. “And Achren has explained the riddle. It was not Taran that you saw, for he was safely in Caer Dallben when you were attacked. It was Arawn Death-Lord himself, who took Taran’s shape in order to wrest Dyrnwyn from you.”

Gwydion nodded grimly. “We must take it back from him at all costs,” he said. “Dyrnwyn cannot be left in his hands.”

Eilonwy stirred and blinked sleepily, then gave a cry of joy at seeing Gwydion awake.

“Call the others to me,” Gwydion said. “I must tell them what I have resolved.” Eilonwy hurried to fetch them. Gwydion’s eyes turned to me. “You have given us valuable counsel,” he said. “I thank you.” I cared nothing for his thanks, as I would not have cared if he reviled me. I merely inclined my head and withdrew into a corner as the others entered the room.

Gwydion was a fool to refuse my offered aid. None know the paths of Annuvin as well as I; none but I knows all Arawn’s powers, for it was I who taught them to him. And yet, Gwydion preferred to seek the counsel of the oracular pig Hen Wen.

They chose to trust to a pig, rather than to me? My lips twisted bitterly, but I kept my head bowed so they would not see. Let them go astray in their folly; let Lord Gwydion speak his soft words of pity, which wounded rather than comforted. None but I could accomplish this task. I waited until they were occupied with the pig, then gathered a small bundle of supplies and went to the stable.

The shaggy creature found me while I was saddling the horse -- one of King Rhun’s, which I imagined would gladly be freed from so foolish a master. I had thought him outside with the others, but perhaps he cared no more for the pig’s utterances than I did.

“Stop, oh stop!” the creature said in distress. “Where are you going with riding and hiding? Listen to the wise and bold Prince! Do not take the horse with sly wickedness!”

I hastened my preparations, not heeding his complaints. In spite of his fear, he tried to catch the horse’s bridle. I would not be stayed, nor bandy words with a creature that had scarce wit to understand them. Leaning forward, I struck him about the head and shoulders until he squealed and let go. I did not care what he did after that, for I was riding away like the wind. I vowed I would let nothing impede me until I reached Annuvin itself.

It was my ill fortune to be captured by someone who would recognize me. Though it may be Arawn had given orders to search for me. He fears me still, even broken as I am. Magg’s war band crossed my path by chance, in the woods of Cantrev Cadiffor, and I did not have time to avoid them. I was dragged before the former steward and traitor by two Huntsmen. I remembered well the time when they had leapt to obey my commands, and I silently promised myself revenge for this slight. 

Magg sneered at me, though his posturing could not entirely conceal his unease. “So Achren,” he said, “we meet again. You were the first to appreciate my talents. Perhaps if you are properly humble I will spare your life.” 

It was a lie, of course. Arawn would have given strict orders for my death. Magg wished only to see me grovel. I drew myself up with a look of haughty contempt. “Beware, Magg,” I said coldly. “Arawn values no tool beyond the hour of its usefulness.”

Magg laughed. “Its usefulness?” he mocked. “But I am useful to him – invaluable! It was I and I alone who told him how to obtain the sword Dyrnwyn. He has given me lands and honors already, and still more: he has promised that I will wear the Iron Crown after him. Magg, Lord of Annuvin!” He postured in front of me, his eyes glittering with the imagined glory. “He will honor me even more highly when I bring him word of your death.” 

I laughed scornfully. “He deceives you, Magg,” I said. “And he deceives you also in this. Arawn Death-Lord knows well that the hand which strikes me down will wither. I still have one final power left to me – the power of my last curse. If you slay me, or even draw one drop of blood from me, you will be slowly consumed in torments which make the lot of the Cauldron-Born seem sweet.”

Magg jerked back, his face turning pale. “You lie!” he cried shrilly. “There is no power left to you. You are a withered husk, a pitiful old woman who cannot even save herself. You are at my mercy!”

I merely looked at him and smiled so that the sharp tips of my teeth were visible. Yes, he feared me still. And now he dared not touch me himself. He turned to the Huntsmen and bade them lash me with their whips. “Her curse is false,” he declared, “but even were it true, it cannot find a mark among so many. She will not see whose hand strikes the final blow!”

The Huntsmen did as they were ordered. I endured it silently and without crying out. So great was Magg’s fear of me that he did not dare approach and make certain that I was slain. There was little enough life left to me, in truth, but while I could not harm or help another, I still held the last and least of powers over my own body. I slowed my breathing to nothing, held my eyes open without blinking, let the trickle of blood from my wounds slow to nothing. And so they thought me dead. Or perhaps it was that the fierce warriors I had once commanded, holding contempt for Magg and indifferent who held their allegiance, did not care to look too closely. Magg ordered them to cast my body in a ditch for the crows and gwythaints. They obeyed and rode off, their harsh laughter diminishing in the distance.

When they were gone, I released the semblance of death which had cheated them. It was long ere I could move. In truth, I was not far from death. But the fierce hatred within me would not let me rest. I would live, I vowed, and have my revenge. Magg my former servant, Arawn who had once been my consort and war leader – they would pay bitterly for their scorn.

I dragged myself under a clump of bushes where I pressed dead leaves against my wounds to stop the bleeding and gathered my remaining strength. It was fortunate that it rained that night, for I had no strength to move further. I lapped rainwater from my cupped hands and the leaves around me. When daylight came, I managed to stir enough to find a handful of berries and more water that had pooled in the hollow of a dead tree. An unwary rabbit happened by, its nose twitching. I caught it with my bare hands and snapped its neck in spite of its struggles. Having no means to make a fire, I tore the raw flesh with my teeth like an animal. A humiliating necessity, but I began to feel my strength return.

It was a farmer and his wife who first gave me refuge, out of simple kindness, though that was not in the tale I told the pig-keeper and his companions. They dared not take part in the fighting, whether it was the warriors of Arawn or the Sons of Don that rode through their cantrev, and hoped only to be overlooked when the armies battled, but they exclaimed at the sight of my wounds and murmured against the cruelty of Annuvin when they thought I could not hear. They knew not who it was they sheltered. But I know their names, and if fate grants me the power, they will someday reap a richer reward than they have dreamed.

I remained there, hidden, until I was able to continue my journey, for I never even thought of turning back. I would go onward, to the very heart of Annuvin.

As I went on, I found others to aid me. Not all have forgotten Achren. It was a simple matter to make them believe I still had my power. They paid homage to me as they once did when I was Queen of Prydain. It was pleasant to be obeyed again, and yet hollow, for I knew I would never again have rule. As for Arawn, the paths to his fastness are less well guarded than he dreams, against one who knows all his secrets. The only triumph I wished for now was to see Arawn fall, and for that I would spend my life gladly. I went forward, and Annuvin opened before me.


End file.
